


A Knight to Remember

by Claranon



Series: The Princess and the Knight [6]
Category: Dragon Quest Series, Dragon Quest XI
Genre: Alt title: The Knights Are Back in Town, Drunkenness, F/M, Guess who's finally making his faaaabulous appearance!, Sylvando has amazing chemistry with literally everyone it's just a fact, This is just 13k words of utter ridiculousness so strap in folks, You don't know how tempted I was to add the UST tag in despite the lack of Jade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-05
Updated: 2019-03-05
Packaged: 2019-11-12 04:20:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18003707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Claranon/pseuds/Claranon
Summary: Sir Hendrik tries to relieve stress by going out on the town with an old friend, but it turns out a knight's work is apparently never done.





	A Knight to Remember

**Author's Note:**

> A _thousand_ apologies for how late this is. I can only hope that ~13,600 words of Hendrik and Sylvando tromping around Puerto Valor make up for it.
> 
> Shoutout to the husband for some truly astounding pun work! You'll...know it when you see it.

Don Rodrigo’s training ground in Puerto Valor was a hallowed place, a place regarded with equal fear and reverence by generations of knights and knights-to-be. For years they withstood trials beyond imagining and struggled to the very limits of their endurance, sustained only by the grim hope that every exhausting day was further molding them into the paragons of strength and virtue they aspired to become.

Unfortunately for the cluster of children gathered that afternoon for training under the esteemed Don Hendrik, the balance of ‘struggle’ versus ‘benefit’ was very much _not_ presently in their favour.

“Swords up!” Hendrik barked at the line of boys and girls before him. “And...forward!”

The knights-in-training let out loud cries and advanced in unison, brandishing their weapons fiercely. Thrust, slash, swipe—then repeat. Hendrik paced the training ground with a frown as he observed the drill, making note of every lapse in form and movement. When the trainees fell back and stood at attention once more, he returned to the front of the line. The setting sun had by then moved to shine directly in his eyes, but he steadfastly ignored it.

“Most displeasing,” Hendrik reproved sternly. “Have you forgotten all that you learned the week previous? We shall repeat the exercise thrice more. Forward!”

“B-but Don Hendrik,” one boy protested, apparently in possession of far more bravery than sense. “The call for dinner came veinte minutos ago and—”

“Did I not make myself clear?” Hendrik scowled, a world of threat simmering just beneath the surface. “Do you wish instead to continue until nightfall?”

The boy gulped and visibly shrank back into the safety of the group. The children were all staring at Hendrik with wide eyes and trembling lower lips. He felt a twinge then, something near enough to be categorized as _guilt_ ; but he set his jaw and his face hardened once more. Better they learn the true meaning of discipline now, than lack it when most needed. He raised his hand again, ready to bark out another order.

“Now, now, honey,” came a voice from behind him. “Let’s not _completely_ terrify the little caballeros, hm?”

Hendrik turned with a start. A lithe man in garish clothing was leaning up against one of the railings behind him. His arms were crossed and an eyebrow had been raised challengingly above his smirk.

“Señorito Norberto! You have returned!” one of the children cried delightedly. They buzzed excitedly amongst themselves as Sylvando gracefully pushed himself off the wooden post and sauntered over to join the group.

“Hello, darlings,” he said with a smile, crouching down to eye level with the trainees. “Has this mean old frowny-face been bossing you around while I was gone?”

“D-Don Hendrik is an excellent instructor,” a girl piped up squeakily, eyeing Hendrik with open nervousness above Sylvando’s head. “But it’s just...we...we do not wish to miss dinner for the cuarto time this week...”

“Oh, of _course_ not!” Sylvando exclaimed, one dismayed hand clapped against his chest. He pursed his lips as he mulled it over—with more than a little ostentation, Hendrik thought sourly.

“I’ll tell you what,” the colourful knight said then to his rapt audience. “You hungry darlings run along to dinner and _I’ll_ deal with Mr Hero of Heliodor here. Sound good?”

Sylvando capped his proposal off with an exaggerated wink, and Hendrik could _see_ the delighted awe rippling through the group of trainees.

“Yes, Señorito Norberto!” they cried as one. Before Hendrik could protest, the children had scattered, dashing off to the mess at top speed with only the echo of their laughter remaining. Sylvando rose and crossed his arms as he watched them go.

“I _was_ in the middle of a lesson,” Hendrik remarked, with more resignation than heat.

“In the middle of bullying those poor little kids, more like,” Sylvando chided. He turned to the taller man and grinned, striking a pose. “But lucky for them, the Great Sylvando was able to make his _fabulous_ appearance and save the day once more!”

Hendrik shook his head, a twinge of fondness coursing through him despite himself. Oftentimes the other knight’s ceaseless buffoonery was a source of vexation; but bonds forged by childhood training ran deep, and Hendrik had found himself to be in short supply of boyhood companions, of late.

He stuck out a hand. “Well met, Sylvando. I regretted just having missed you before your departure for Gallopolis.”

“It’s been far too long, Hendrik!” Sylvando exclaimed, clasping hands with his old friend warmly. “You should have _told_ me you were coming, honey—I’d have delayed my trip!”

“There was no need,” Hendrik declared. He pulled away from the handshake to fiddle with the sword sheath on his belt. “I expect my stay here to last for some time, so there will be ample opportunity for reunion.”

Sylvando tilted his head at that, eyeing Hendrik speculatively. “Papi said you showed up on his doorstep three weeks ago, grim as _anything_ and demanding ‘the most rigorous training a knight can possibly endure’.”

This last part was said in what Hendrik dearly _hoped_ was not an accurate approximation of his own voice. “Yes,” he confirmed, coughing into his fist. “Though thus far Don Rodrigo seems content to have me on instruction duties for the knights-in-training.” He paused, frowning slightly. “I do not mind, of course, but I must confess I had hoped your father would have found time to start my new regimen by now.”

“Hm,” Sylvando replied, still looking at him in a penetrating way that made Hendrik feel slightly itchy around the collar. “And _that’s_ the reason you came, darling?”

Hendrik swallowed reflexively.

_A passage collapsing before his helpless eyes; a nightmare averted just when he had lost all hope; a heated argument he should never have entertained, let alone escalated._

_A moment of surrender that had betrayed_ everything _._

“Of a certainty,” he answered evenly.

“If you say so,” Sylvando shrugged, one arm cocked at his side. Then he brightened and clapped his hands together. “But never mind that. Now that I’m back, we need to _celebrate_ , honey! What do you say to a little night on the town, eh? Grab some grub, waste some money, gossip about all the truly _dreadful_ fashions in style this season...” The man shook his head despairingly. “Whoever thought _lace_ needed to make a comeback was one pole short of a circus tent, don’t you think?”

Hendrik hesitated. He had no real reason to object; his schedule of attempting to exhaust himself through late night training only to spend hours staring at the ceiling of his bedroom regardless, was truthfully not a busy one. And it _had_ been some time since he had last seen Sylvando.

The other man was looking at him expectantly. “Very well,” Hendrik conceded. He then found himself immediately and profoundly regretting it when Sylvando’s face lit up with an ominous smirk.

“Wonderful, darling! We’ll head right out!” the knight said with a suspicious undercurrent of amusement in his voice. He paused for a moment, dimpling his chin with one long finger. “Although there is one _teeny_ little detail I _may_ have neglected to mention. You see, I happened to pick up an unexpected passenger on the way back...”

Hendrik opened his mouth to ask, already dreading the answer, when they were interrupted by the sound of sheer, unbridled enthusiasm brought to life.

“Sir Hendriiiik!”

The knight in question turned, his heart plummeting so far down into his stomach he feared it might never be retrieved.

Prince Faris of Gallopolis was running over from the villa, one excited hand raised above his head in a wave. He was panting slightly when he reached the two men and took in a deep breath before drawing himself up to his full height—at least a foot shorter than either of his companions.

“Sir Hendrik!” he beamed. “What incredible fortune to find you here, just as I have started my journey throughout Erdrea to seek new masters for my training! It _surely_ must be fate that has brought us together.”

“Yes, Your Highness,” Hendrik said distantly as he made a perfunctory bow. “Surely.”

“Good old Hendrik here was just saying he would be _delighted_ to come out with us tonight,” Sylvando told Prince Faris with a mischievous glance toward the other knight.

“Oh! Why, this is perfect!” the prince gasped, quickly looking between the two men. “I have so much to discuss with you, Sir Hendrik, that even a _hundred_ such evenings could not be enough. Let us make haste!”

The prince pointed dramatically toward the town and then marched off without waiting for an answer, a lively spring in his step as he hummed a parade song. The two men watched him silently for a few moments.

“Well—looks like _that’s_ all settled, then,” Sylvando declared with an impish smile. “Coming, darling?”

Hendrik would not dare dream of wanting to strangle a man who had been such a loyal, steadfast companion to him and all those he held dear; but he _did_ briefly entertain some speculation toward how difficult it might be to take Sylvando by surprise and remove him from action for the remainder of the night, thus aborting the outing entirely. A knight would never go back on his word, but allowances must surely be made for sheer self-preservation.

“Behind you,” he said instead, through gritted teeth.

 

* * *

 

Hendrik frowned down at his cards and wondered, for the twelfth time in as many minutes, how _anyone_ was expected to keep his sanity when surrounded by such a cacophony of light and sound as a casino afforded. Although perhaps that was part of the general strategy; a patron who could scarce hear himself think would, as a consequence, tend toward the foolhardy decision-making the knight could only assume went on here countless times a day.

Sylvando, sitting at the other end of the poker table, appeared to have amassed a tidy sum of tokens as a result of his efforts over the past half-hour. Hendrik strongly suspected that he himself was well in the red by this point. Aside from his general lack of luck or skill in such matters, he had only a vague idea how one was even supposed to _play_ poker; it was a favourite pastime in the barracks, but the knight had always used his spare moments in the training field rather than shuffling around petty coin in the name of _fun_.

“Deal or call, señor?” the young lady at the head of the table asked him. She tossed her hair and twirled the ends of it around one finger, smiling at him with her lower lip slightly caught between her teeth. As Hendrik considered her question, he idly wondered why she had been repeating that movement with her hair ever since he had sat down. A nervous habit, perhaps?

“Deal,” he said with a decisiveness borne more from habit than any real conviction. He discarded what he hoped were his least effective cards and waited for the woman to give him new ones. Her fingers lightly brushed against his as she did, and he politely moved his hand out of her way with a mumbled apology.

“Oh! So sorry, señor,” the dealer exclaimed as he stared down at his fresh spread of cards. “Maybe you will have buena suerte next round?”

“No, I believe I am finished here,” Hendrik sighed, pushing back his stool to rise. Better to quit _before_ he reached the bottom of his coin purse and was forced to start pawning Heliodorian heirlooms to settle his debts.

“Wait, señor,” the woman said and he paused, looking at her inquiringly. Her lip was caught between her teeth in an even more pronounced manner this time as she leaned over the table toward him. She must be entirely unaware of the effect this had on her décolletage, he decided, raising his eyes hastily so as not to embarrass her.

“If you wish, I could take some time to practice with you when I go on my descanso,” the dealer said in a breathy voice, toying with her hair again.

“Ah—no, that is quite all right,” Hendrik responded, furtively looking around for an effective path of retreat. The woman’s offer was a generous one, and he did not wish to offend her with his refusal.

“No? I can make myself _completely_ available to you, caballero,” she persisted, drawing ever closer; he wished he knew of some way to warn her about the imminent failure of her neckline in its duty before it was too late.

Hendrik caught Sylvando’s eye and the other man’s eyebrows rose as he glanced quickly between his friend and the dealer. A smirk crossed his face, and he got up from his seat and sidled over to Hendrik, slipping an arm around the larger man’s shoulders.

“Ooh! Bad luck, darling,” Sylvando clucked his tongue as he leaned down to study Hendrik’s cards. He straightened again and pulled Hendrik out of his chair with an insistent tug. “Come on—let’s go make sure our Princey-poo is having a better night than _you_ , at least.”

Sylvando expertly flipped a token at the dealer with his free hand. She caught it automatically and glanced down. Her eyes widened and she looked back at the knight with disbelief. He winked at her before steering his friend away from the table and back into the main bustle of the casino hall.

“You have my thanks,” Hendrik said gratefully when they were some distance removed. “She was remarkably... _persistent_ in wanting to teach me the rules of the game.”

“Yes, honey, that’s _definitely_ what she wanted to show you,” Sylvando chuckled knowingly, giving Hendrik’s shoulder a playful squeeze.

The other man pulled back slightly to stare at him. “You mean...she…” Realization dawned and Hendrik flushed. “Oh. I had not...noticed.”

“I wonder how many pieces of clothing she’d have had to remove before you _did_ notice?” Sylvando smiled fondly at him. “Ah, same old stone-headed Hendrik. Such a sweet, simple boy…”

Hendrik flushed further and made to protest—with what actual defence, he did not know—but Sylvando was already continuing: “I’ve got to say, you’ve been a _lot_ more composed than the last time we came here. Why, I remember a certain heroic knight tripping all _over_ himself trying to avoid staring too hard at the gorgeous bunny girls.”

“I...do not recall exhibiting such behaviour,” Hendrik replied tightly, with as much dignity as could be expected from a man with what must have been an entirely red complexion by that point.

“Well, believe me, it was _hilarious_ , darling.” Sylvando tilted his head to the side, and suddenly that assessing look was back. “But now...I wonder what might’ve changed, hm?”

Hendrik was spared from further indignity in the conversation by a sudden glimpse at the edge of the milling crowd. His heart caught in his throat at the sight of a slender woman with very long, dark hair walking toward the slots and disappearing behind a pillar.

He did not even stop to think; he wrenched his shoulder away from Sylvando’s surprised hand and dashed through the crowd of people. Nearly losing his balance as he skidded around the pillar, he frantically looked this way and that, scanning for any sign of the woman. He was about to give up and try the other side of the room when he spotted her at one of the Slime Slots machines.

Hendrik approached her, slowly now, his heart beating hard in his ears. He could not think of _why_ she would be here, but if she were—if she were truly—

When he was but a handful of feet away, the woman noticed his presence and looked up at him.

It was not her.

Adrenaline crashed down all around Hendrik and left him reeling. He made a slight, shaky bow and mumbled a brief apology for the disturbance before hastening away to a quieter corner of the casino floor to re-gather his wits.

Of course it had not been her. How could he ever have expected her to voluntarily seek him out after he had deserted her in such a way? He squeezed his eyes shut and pressed one tight fist against the wall, futilely trying to banish the flash of memory that had haunted his every waking hour these past weeks: the sight of her sitting helplessly on the training room floor, eyes wide with hurt and confusion, lips still red and bruised from his desperate kisses. Her devastatingly beautiful face had had only questions for him, and there had been no answers to comfort her—or himself.

Suddenly the clamour and bustle of the casino was intolerable to Hendrik. He could think only of retreating back to his room, where at least this inevitable torture could be endured in peace and quiet.

“Hendrik? Is everything okay, honey?”

The knight opened his eyes again and turned to Sylvando, standing some feet away with concern on his face. Hendrik straightened his shoulders and forced himself to relax his fists.

“It is of no matter. A simple mistake,” he replied firmly. “Did you manage to locate His Highness?”

“Yes, although I think the silly little prince is about two minutes away from getting into trouble,” Sylvando said, eyes still searching Hendrik’s face. He suddenly smiled and the dark corner of the room seemed to light up the slightest bit. “Shall we go haul him out of it arms first, darling?”

Hendrik felt his desire to abandon the outing draining away in the face of his old friend’s irrepressible enthusiasm. None of this was Sylvando’s fault, and it would be churlish of him to punish the man for his own dreadful lapses in judgement. Although, truthfully, they might perhaps be best served by a change in venue; he resolved to suggest it as soon as the prince was retrieved.

“Very well,” Hendrik nodded. He stepped away from the wall, determined to leave all memories of that night along with it—at least for the moment.

 

* * *

 

_Trouble_ , as it turned out, took the form of several decidedly large and unfriendly casino patrons surrounding the prince at the bar.

“Sylvando! Sir Hendrik!” the young man exclaimed with barely-disguised panic in his voice when he saw them approach.

“Well, aren’t _you_ all a friendly bunch?” Sylvando remarked, crossing his arms and leaning back on one heel. “Just having a nice little chat, I hope?” Most casual onlookers would think the man entirely at ease as he spoke, but Hendrik could see the coil of tension in his posture.

The group of men glanced at the newcomers.

“Friendly?” one in a bull mask scoffed. “I don’t think so. This little twerp challenged us to an arm wrestlin’ contest and now he’s tryna skip out on payin’ our fair winnings!”

The man turned back to lean in menacingly at Prince Faris and Hendrik could see the boy start to shake as he cringed further downward. Hendrik’s hand automatically dropped to his belt and he inwardly cursed at the empty air he found there instead of a hilt. Sylvando had somehow convinced him to leave his sword behind before departing the villa earlier, insisting that it was the only way to guarantee a conflict-free evening. Hendrik grimly hoped that the other knight had at least had the foresight to amply stock his ridiculous outfit with hidden knives.

“Th-that—I mean—I was merely—” the prince stuttered. He looked wildly between the men. “H-how about a rematch, g-gentlemen?”

“You already lost six times in a row!” another one bellowed, shaking his fist directly in Prince Faris’s face.

Sylvando gave Hendrik a sideways glance and the taller man nodded curtly. He set his shoulders back and was about to move in on the scene with one of three potential proportionately-threatening displays of intimidation, when the prince spoke up again.

“I-I meant—a rematch with—” His terrified eyes suddenly locked onto Hendrik’s. The young man’s face lit up with inspiration at the same time as Hendrik’s stomach plummeted downward in what was quickly becoming a _very_ familiar sense of dread.

“—with my champion, Sir Hendrik of Heliodor!” Prince Faris loudly finished, straightening up and tossing his cape back dramatically.

All conversation in the bar area ceased as the various patrons stopped and stared at the group. Hendrik felt his mouth hanging open, but was strangely helpless to close it.

“What?” he gaped.

“Yes! Sir Hendrik of Heliodor, here in the flesh!” the prince declared with a grand flourish of his hand. “And he has chosen to defend the honour of none other than myself, Prince Faris of Gallopolis! Surely you cannot refuse such a contest as _that_ , gentlemen?”

The man in the bull mask snorted and looked the knight up and down. “ _This_ is the famous Sir Hendrik? ‘E don’t look so tough.”

“Aha! And that is where you are wrong, my friend!” Prince Faris scoffed. “In fact—I have such confidence in his staggering strength and paramount power, that I am prepared to offer _double_ the coin on wager if you manage to defeat him! No— _triple!_ ”

An excited buzz went through the crowd of onlookers that had now gathered around them. Hendrik felt somehow as though events were happening to him from very far away.

“Dear me, it looks like you’re being stretched pretty thin these days with your champion-ing, honey,” Sylvando noted, cupping his cheek in one hand. He watched the man in the bull mask conferring heatedly with his comrades while Prince Faris looked on smugly, all former terror lost to unquenchable bravado.

“Your assistance in preventing this farce is much appreciated, Sylvando,” Hendrik said acidly.

“Oh, don’t be such an old stick-in-the-mud, Hendrik,” Sylvando tossed back with a grin. “Can _you_ think of an easier way to get out of this without bloodshed?”

Hendrik was—with some disgruntlement—forced to admit that he could not. He adjusted his belt again, feeling positively naked without the familiar weight of his sword in a situation simmering so close to violence.

At last the men reached their decision and turned back. “All right,” Bull-Mask said, nodding at Hendrik. “We accept your offer.”

“It was not, strictly speaking, _my—_ ” Hendrik tried to say, but was interrupted by the prince, who had finally seized his chance to escape his predicament by the bar and had dashed over to safety behind the two knights.

“Aha! Excellent!” the young man beamed, peering around Hendrik’s arm. “Then let us all prepare for the competition while I confer with my champion!”

While several patrons set up a table and two chairs in the centre of the bar’s seating area, Hendrik, the prince, and Sylvando gathered together in a tight circle.

“Your Highness, this is most irregular!” Hendrik protested in a low voice.

“Please! It is the only way to escape the wrath of these scoundrels!” Prince Faris begged with hands clasped together. “Oh you simply _must_ save me, Sir Hendrik, please please please please please _please!_ ”

The prince’s eyes shimmered with unshed tears. Hendrik, despite everything, could almost see why Sylvando had such a soft spot for the boy; it was near impossible to turn away from a creature of such a pitiful nature as this.

“What _I_ don’t understand is why you continued on to five _more_ matches after losing the first one, Princey dear,” Sylvando remarked pointedly.

“They insulted the pride of my kingdom,” the prince responded, his head hanging. “A true knight would never walk away from that, would he?”

“A true knight possesses the wisdom to pick his battles, and knows when to take the higher ground,” Hendrik said, automatically slipping into what the princess had long ago declared to be his ‘lecture voice’. He felt a sharp twist of pain at the thought of her but deliberately pushed it aside.

“Then...then you will not help me?” Prince Faris asked in a quavering voice.

Hendrik sighed. To refuse a heartfelt request from royalty was, in the end, not within his power. Sylvando was looking at him with a curious smile on his face, which Hendrik decidedly ignored.

“If it pleases Your Highness, then I shall be your champion,” Hendrik told the prince with a grudging nod.

“Yay!” Prince Faris cried delightedly, pumping his fist in the air. “Thank you, Sir Hendrik! You will not regret it, I swear!” Hendrik had certain doubts about that, but kept them to himself.

“Oh, if only the whole gang were here to see this,” Sylvando lamented with a sad shake of his head. “I’m not even sure _whose_ side Veronica would be on—she can’t stand our little princey here.”

“The fewer people involved in this foolishness, the better,” Hendrik said grimly, though secretly wondering himself how _another_ of their former party might have reacted to it all; if she would have cheered him on, or offered advice, or perhaps even given him a good luck—

He was spared the torment of this train of thought by a call from Prince Faris to come to the table for the contest.

Unfortunately for Hendrik’s wish for inconspicuousness, word had travelled throughout the casino and a sizeable crowd had gathered to watch the proceedings. The group of men had selected Bull-Mask as their contender and Hendrik eyed his substantial arms speculatively as he sat down, the prince and Sylvando flanking him.

One of the young ladies in the casino’s employ had been roped into refereeing. She raised her arm as the contestants placed their elbows on the table and clasped hands firmly.

“Tres...dos...uno...begin!” the woman cried, dropping her arm dramatically at the finish.

Cheers and shouts erupted as Hendrik and Bull-Mask immediately started straining against each other. The man had a powerful grip, there was no doubt; Hendrik felt his face grow red from exertion, and barely acknowledged Prince Faris’s taunts and cries beside his ear as he concentrated.

As the struggle continued, a fear wormed its way into Hendrik’s mind that had not once occurred to him until that moment. It was quickly becoming apparent to him that Bull-Mask _was_ perhaps the stronger of the two. Inch by agonizing inch, Hendrik felt himself losing ground. He could see a tight grin spreading across his opponent’s face under the mask as the men behind him jeered louder.

Hendrik redoubled his efforts, but still his fist crept ever closer to the surface of the table, and a bleak despair began to set in.

A low voice, then, for Hendrik’s ears alone: “For Heliodor, darling—and your princess.”

Princess Jade. What would she say if she could see him now, nearly bested by a common bully? He could easily conjure up a vision of her disgust—or worse, her _disappointment_. She, who always threw herself into battle with everything she had, would never forgive such a lapse from the knight sworn to protect her future throne all the days of her rule.

Hendrik looked up at his adversary with new fire in his eyes. He could not lose; he _would_ not. _For Heliodor—and_ his _princess._

The tide turned. Agonizing bit at a time, Hendrik forced Bull-Mask’s arm back over the apex of the table. Alarm set in among his opponent’s friends and they urged him onward with increasing desperation. Bull-Mask himself was huffing and pushing with all his strength, and Hendrik could see the veins in his arms throbbing.

The crowd around them had been growing wilder as Bull-Mask’s hand got closer and closer to the table’s surface. But then, when mere inches away, a hush fell over all those assembled; the entire casino seemed to hold its breath watching the tremendous struggle between the two straining men.

One final burst of strength, and Hendrik slammed his adversary’s hand down on the table.

An enormous cheer went up as Hendrik fell back in his chair, panting hard. Prince Faris was jumping up and down and dancing around him, while Sylvando clapped Hendrik on the shoulder.

“Fabulous, darling!” the colourful knight congratulated him with a broad smile. “A performance worthy of Drustan himself!” Hendrik could not help but grin back, flush with the adrenaline of victory.

Suddenly, two fists slammed down on the table in front of him; he looked up in surprise. Bull-Mask was leaning over menacingly, his friends crowded around him.

“You...you cheated, you did!” he sputtered at Hendrik.

The knight was up in flash, his chair toppling over behind him. “I _beg_ your pardon?” he snapped, enough steel in his voice to provoke whole regiments to flee.

“Beg all you want, you won’t get it!” Bull-Mask yelled. “You’re a right cheater, and you’re gonna pay!” He pulled his arm back and swung at Hendrik’s head with all his might.

_That_ did it. The weeks of gnawing worry over his princess, the stress from the burdens of his duties, the idiocy of this entire ridiculous contest—they all caught up to him at once. A man could only bear so much before he reached a breaking point, and Hendrik had been teetering on a sword’s edge with his since that fateful night in the castle training room.

Bracing himself on his heels, he intercepted Bull-Mask’s hand with one gloved palm, stopping the blow short. Then Hendrik leaned back, drew in a quick breath, and sent his other fist flying straight into the man’s masked face.

The outcome to all this—though wildly dramatic, messy, and _loud_ in the doing—was, in the end, altogether predictable.

 

* * *

 

“Banned! For life!”

Prince Faris was practically vibrating from excitement in the dark street outside the casino. “In my entire existence,” he continued breathlessly, “I have never been banned from anywhere! How thrilling! How inspiring! How _fun!_ ”

Hendrik looked up from the bench where he had been sitting, head in his hands. His arm ached dully and he felt the beginnings of an enormous headache creeping in. “Your Highness,” he implored again, “if you would only permit me to Heal your injuries—”

“Certainly not!” the prince exclaimed, looking aghast at the very idea. He traced reverent fingertips over a small cut on his cheek. “I bear these wounds proudly, for they were earned in the course of battle, defending my brave comrades from heartless and terrible foes!”

He turned to Sylvando eagerly. “Do you think—do you think I might even gain a _scar?_ ”

Sylvando smiled from where he was lounging against the archway of the casino hotel. Though in the thick of the general melee the entire time, the man had come out of it none the worse for wear, save the loss of several of his colourful outfit’s pom-poms.

“I’m sure you’ll have _something_ to show off back at home, Princey dear,” he replied, stretching his arms above his head before sauntering over to Hendrik’s bench and flopping down beside his friend.

“How are _you_ doing, honey?” he asked Hendrik earnestly. “Has that poor, bedraggled tunic of yours finally breathed its last?” He gingerly toed the bloodied garment in question where it lay crumpled up on the cobblestones at their feet.

“I fear so,” Hendrik sighed, arms dropping to his knees. He was no stranger to washing out any manner of gruesome stains from his clothing, but absent a miraculous spell, the tunic seemed well beyond the point of rehabilitation this time. Regrettable; it had been one of his favourites.

“Hm,” Sylvando hummed in response. He rested his chin on his knuckles thoughtfully. “A pity old Bull-Mask’s nose couldn’t have splattered the turtleneck, too.”

Hendrik frowned, wondering what the man was implying, before he was distracted by the sound of Prince Faris clapping his hands together.

“Well, gentlemen!” he cried excitedly. “What injustices shall we seek to redress now? What  grievous wrongs shall we right? The night is young, and a knight’s work is never done!”

“I must needs return to the villa,” Hendrik said firmly, rising from the bench and rotating the shoulder of his sore arm several times. “Don Rodrigo must be informed of the events that transpired here this evening.” He cast his eyes downward, a belated wave of shame settling over him. “I can only hope he will find it in him to grant mercy for my ill-advised participation.”

“Oh, don’t be such a spoilsport, darling!” Sylvando admonished, rolling his eyes. “Papi will speak with the casino owner and get our bans overturned. It’ll all blow over by tomorrow, you’ll see!”

“Nevertheless—” Hendrik shook his head. He started forward, determined to put the night’s foolishness behind him with all possible haste.

“But...but wait!” the prince exclaimed, holding up both hands to stop him. “Wait! I only now remembered! While speaking to several commoners in the casino, I heard tell of a strange rumour. I think I might have stumbled upon…”

Prince Faris threw his cape back dramatically. “...a quest!”

“A...quest?” Hendrik echoed.

“Yes!” the prince nodded eagerly. “It is said that for the past week, strange figures have been accosting innocent citizens of this town late at night. I have heard them described variously as bandits, pirates, and even”—his voice dropped to a whisper—“ _demons!_ ”

“Really? How interesting, Princey-poo,” Sylvando mused, tapping his cheek with his fingers. “Have you heard anything about this, Hendrik honey?”

“No,” Hendrik admitted, “but I tend only to leave the villa when taking Obsidian out for his daily ride.”

“Surely you see it is our paramount duty as knights to investigate this threat!” Prince Faris entreated him with shining eyes. “The safety of the town—nay, the _world_ —demands it!”

Not for the first time that evening, Hendrik found himself caught in a trap laid by what had to be the most guileless young man ever to draw breath. He glanced over at Sylvando helplessly; the sly smile he found there promised not only a complete lack of assistance, but several more complications besides.

“I...suppose there could be no harm in gathering more information,” Hendrik conceded reluctantly.

“Sylv’s Detective Agency is unfortunately on another case already, darling,” Sylvando told the young prince, “but I’ll do my best to help out, too.”

“Hurray!” Prince Faris shouted happily, beaming at the two knights. “Then—onward to the investigation!” He raced off down the street, eagerly waving at them to follow.

Hendrik felt his head throbbing more insistently than ever as he stared after the prince. He did not turn to look at his companion, but could _feel_ the quiet amusement radiating off him nonetheless.

“What manner of offense have I ever given you, Sylvando?” he scowled at the night air.

“Oh, Hendrik, always _so_ dramatic!” the other man sighed. “Learn to live a little, eh?” He glanced toward the beach and then gave Hendrik a firm poke in the arm. “Come on—we’ll steer the Princey-poo toward the bar over there and I’ll buy you a drink, okay?”

Hendrik resignedly let himself be led away by his friend. It seemed that a knight’s work was, indeed, never done.

 

* * *

 

The prince’s direction having been _much_ more easily influenced than Hendrik had feared, he soon found himself restlessly stirring some strange fruit concoction while half-listening to Sylvando recounting the events of his trip. A gentle breeze fluttered the cloth sides of the bar’s enclosure and the muted sound of the sea could be heard beyond. The prince was occupying himself by excitedly interviewing anyone who would deign to talk to him, and the two knights had mutually agreed that it was _likely_ safe enough to leave him to his own devices for the moment.

Hendrik leaned back in his chair, his thoughts scattered and his drink untouched. He did not care for alcohol as a rule and seldom indulged in it. Indeed, aside from the occasional glass of champagne at a banquet, the last time he had truly partaken had been after the _Signor Universo_ contest, before he had left the pub to find—

His bit the inside of his lip hard, just shy of drawing blood. Try though he might, the ghosts of his reckless behaviour over the past several months seemed nigh-inescapable tonight.

Suddenly he noticed that Sylvando was looking at him expectantly from across the table. “Forgive me,” Hendrik apologized. “My thoughts strayed. You truly believe Don Rodrigo can be convinced to open a branch of the Gallopolis circus here?”

“Well, maybe not the Papi of our childhood,” Sylvando smiled, “but with the casino here now, I think it’s worth a shot, don’t you? It’d save me _loads_ on all this travelling time and expenses, even with the _Stallion._ ”

Hendrik made an indistinct noise of general agreement. He took a polite sip of his drink and his face screwed up involuntarily; far too much...whatever type of fruit that was.

“But enough about _me_ , Hendrik dear,” Sylvando continued. “How’s everybody at Cobblestone and Heliodor? It’s been an _age_ since I last visited!”

“The Luminary and his family are well, as is His Majesty,” Hendrik responded distractedly, looking around for a pitcher of water to rinse the taste of the drink out of his mouth. Some kind of melon, perhaps? Truly an ill-advised flavouring.

“And Jade?” Sylvando prompted.

Hendrik jolted slightly. His head swivelled back to stare at the other man, all thoughts of water forgotten. “Pardon?”

“How is Jade doing? You didn’t mention her,” Sylvando pointed out with a raised brow.

“She is…” Hendrik cleared his throat. “Also well. Quite well. Very, very...exceptionally well.”

“Wonderful! I’m glad to hear it,” his friend said. He then half-stood from his chair and looked around. “Our little prince still seems busy interrogating the poor locals. I’ll tell him he has a few more minutes and then we’ll find some other distraction, okay darling?”

Hendrik let out a relieved breath he had not known he was holding and nodded. Sylvando slipped out of the bar for some minutes before returning to his seat. As the two men sat and waited for the prince to finish, Hendrik slowly relaxed again, lulled by the relative peacefulness of the setting compared to the clamorous casino.

Something about the exaggerated casualness of Sylvando’s next question, however, immediately put Hendrik back on his guard: “So, honey—why was it you said you’d come here again?”

“For training,” Hendrik responded shortly.

“Hmm, _training_ ,” the other man responded, tenting his fingers on the table and tilting his head to one side. “And this all of a sudden, after twenty-four years?”

“Correct,” Hendrik gritted out. Whatever Sylvando’s purpose in trying to ferret answers out of him, he was determined not to let one single hint of the truth slip out. It concerned not only his own affairs, but also those of the princess; for a knight to expose her to the threat of gossip and public ridicule would be unconscionable.

“Well,” Sylvando drawled, pulling out a folded piece of paper from some unaccountable pocket and waving it in the air for emphasis, “as it turns out, a certain someone _may_ have told me differently…”

“Is that—” Hendrik stared at the paper in absolute consternation. It was folded thrice in the usual manner of letters, and covered on one side in what looked from his position to be a familiar cursive script. “Did she...did she send you—”

“Something the matter, darling?” Sylvando asked innocently, holding the letter between two fingers, just out of reach.

Hendrik swallowed hard. His heart hammered in his chest and he could not take his eyes off the paper.

“May I ask what she said about—” he started to say in a thick voice, but then checked himself sternly. “No—forgive me. Your correspondence with the princess is your own affair. It would be the gravest breach of privacy for me to—such action would hardly behoove a man of my—moreover, if she wished to write _me,_ then surely she would already have—”

Sylvando watched with narrowed eyes as Hendrik wrestled openly with his conscience, a war in his heart between long-held ideals of propriety, and a desperate desire to know just what his princess might have written about their last, tempestuous encounter.

“If you want to see it _that_ badly, honey, then here you go!” Sylvando interrupted Hendrik’s inner struggle, presenting the paper with a flourish.

Hendrik stared at this ultimate test of his honour for an eternity of at least three seconds; then he snatched the letter out of the other man’s hand and eagerly tore it open.

It read:

**_Bar Junto al Mar_ **

_Slime on the Beach 10G_

_Shamhattan 10G_

_Isla Longis Iced Tea 12G_

_Mint Goolep 15G_

_Kazappletini 10G_

_Pink Typhoon 12G_

_Sniflheim Sling 15G_

_Margaruda 15G_

_Rushin' Wight 10G_

_Calasmopolitan 12G_

_Special requests welcome! Gracias!_

There was a long pause as Hendrik’s frazzled mind grappled with the reality of what he held in his hands. His eyes slid off the top of the paper and met Sylvando’s again.

“You—this—it was nothing more than a—” Hendrik’s brain was galloping hard in its attempt to catch up with his mouth. “You _deceived_ me!” he sputtered, crumpling up the paper and slamming his fist down on the table.

“A detective must pursue all leads at his disposal, Hendrik dear,” Sylvando said placatingly, holding up his hands in defence. “And anyway, I never _said_ it was a letter, did I?”

Hendrik sorted back through the conversation, trying to find some fault in this assertion. He finally fell back in his chair and crossed his arms, scowling. “You test the bonds of friendship greatly, Sylvando.”

“Darling, I’m not toying with you for fun,” the other knight said, suddenly quite serious. “Something’s happened, and it has to do with Jade, doesn’t it?”

For a long moment, Hendrik teetered on the edge between restraint and confession, entirely torn between his loyalties; but in the end, the genuine concern in his friend’s eyes tipped the balance, and he wearily sank his head down into his hands.

“It does,” he admitted quietly.

“And just how bad _is_ it, honey?” Sylvando asked, a strange gentleness in his voice.

Hendrik winced. “It is entirely possible that Her Highness will turn her claws on me when next we meet.”

Sylvando clucked his tongue sympathetically and was just starting to ask another question when they were interrupted by new arrivals at their table.

“My fellow knights!” Prince Faris declared with a pompous flourish of his cape. “I am pleased to report that the investigation has achieved a breakthrough!” He turned to the figure beside him and gestured grandly. “Behold—a witness!”

A short, bespectacled man stood there with his hands clasped behind his back. He blinked up at the prince before turning to stare at Hendrik and Sylvando.

“Go on, my good man!” Prince Faris encouraged him. “Tell them everything you said to me about the feathered figures you encountered!”

“Well, well,” the man said in a rasping voice, stroking his bushy mustache. “It happened just the other noche, when I was returning from my daily trip to the casino to admire all the beautiful—”

Abruptly he stopped and peered closely at Sylvando. “I have seen you before, have I not?” After a moment, his face lit up. “Sí! You are one of the ones who travelled with the Luminary!”

Hendrik glanced over at his friend and was startled to see him suddenly drained of all colour. “Sylvando? Are you quite all right?” he asked curiously.

“O-of course, darling!” Sylvando replied with a false laugh, his eyes slightly wild as they darted over to Hendrik then away again. “Now, señor, please continue with your story, as I’m sure it’s absolutely _fascinating_ to—”

“No, no, first you must tell me how it goes with that maravillosa lady friend of yours!” the man said eagerly. He let out a lusty sigh. “Ay, I had never seen a more bonita bunny girl in all my life! Her long, dark hair, her luscious purple eyes, her inmensas—” He made an exaggerated rounding motion in front of his chest.

Sylvando leapt forward and waved his hands frantically in front of the man, attempting to put a stop to the crude gesture. “She is just fine, señor! Wonderful! But _please_ , could we get back to your story?” he begged.

Hendrik had been slotting the pieces of this conversation onto a mental field map, sorting out deployments and determining patterns. “Sylvando,” he said slowly, an ominous tone creeping into his voice, “why does this man sound as though he is speaking of Princess Jade?”

“A princesa?” the old man exclaimed. “Ay ay ay! No wonder she was so grumpy when I asked her to put on the bunny costume! But good thing you were able to convince her, hm? Such a visión she was, I still see her in my dreams every night!”

When Hendrik rounded on Sylvando, the other knight had raised his hands defensively again. “Hendrik darling,” he said in a slightly shaky voice, even as he took several strategic steps backward. “You know how much our young friend _loves_ to help people out, and that we would never make Jade do _anything_ against her will—”

Sudden, incandescent rage overtook Hendrik. The deception about the letter had been one thing, but this— _this_ —

“ _You dressed the Princess of Heliodor as a bunny girl for the sake of a lecherous old pervert?!_ ” he shouted, one white-knuckled fist raised threateningly in the air.

“Well, that is a bit injusto,” the old man muttered to himself.

“Hendrik! Honey,” Sylvando said soothingly, quickly putting as many pieces of furniture between them as possible, “don’t you think it would be better to calm down and talk about this?”

“Did anyone else _see?_ ” Hendrik snarled, knocking over a chair in his attempt to lunge for his retreating friend.

“Ay! I remember it, clear as day!” the man beamed, stroking his mustache again. “The beach was very busy, it was. Dozens of people, claro!”

“Would you _please_ stop trying to be helpful, señor,” Sylvando groaned as he scrambled to dodge Hendrik’s vengeful grasp.

“I feel, perhaps, that we have gotten a bit off track of our quest?” Prince Faris ventured tentatively. When Hendrik paused and turned his baleful glare on the boy, however, he shrieked and retreated behind the safety of the bar.

It was entirely possible that the trio would have been kicked out of their _second_ establishment of the night—alongside some well-deserved arrests for disturbing the peace—if a sudden scream had not pierced the air.

Hendrik froze in the act of grabbing the chair Sylvando had thrust in front of himself as a shield. The two knights quickly exchanged a glance, all thoughts of vengeance and flight temporarily suspended.

Another cry, nearer to the bar this time. A breathless woman stumbled into the enclosure, her eyes wide and terrified. She pointed a shaky hand behind her. “Demons!” she gasped. “Horrible, gaudy, feathered _demons!_ They were right outside!”

Hendrik was racing past her before she had even finished speaking, Sylvando close behind him. The two men squinted into the sudden darkness, willing their eyes to adjust.

“There!” Sylvando said sharply, pointing to several dark figures running through the streets up above.

Hendrik nodded and they took off as one, vaulting over the balustrade of the nearby staircase and taking the steps three at a time. At the top of the stairs they paused again, frantically looking around for some hint as to where the mysterious creatures had gone.

“Wait!” came a voice from behind them. Prince Faris staggered up to the two knights, panting hard and clutching at his legs. “Wait! This is...my quest! I must...defeat the demons…for the honour...of Gallopolis!”

“If you wish to assist us, then unearth their trail! Quickly!“ Hendrik said curtly, in no mood for foolhardy young princes at present. Prince Faris gave the knight a startled look and then waved a sloppy salute as he ran off down the dark cobblestone path.

“Hendrik!” Sylvando caught his attention then. With a flourish, the knight produced several knives from his outfit and offered one hilt-first. Hendrik accepted it with a grateful nod and shoved it into his belt.

The prince shouted from further along the street: “Sir Hendrik! Sylvando! This way!”

When the knights caught up to him, he pointed toward the bridge leading out of town. “They have escaped to the countryside! Surely their lair must be out there somewhere!”

Hendrik frowned and crossed his arms, casting an eye toward the villa. “It would be wisest to retrieve weapons and horses before following, Your Highness. If you will give me some time to call for reinforcements, then—”

“No!” Prince Faris cried, throwing an arm out dramatically. “I will not lose them! A Prince of Gallopolis _never_ backs down from a chase!”

Before Hendrik could even make a noise of protest, the prince was already halfway up the stairs, sandaled feet slapping on the stonework. The knight gaped after him.

Sylvando gave an exaggerated shrug. “Well, we can’t exactly let the Princey-poo run off alone and get himself killed, can we, darling?” he asked with a crooked grin.

“I suppose it _would_ set a bad example for the trainees,” Hendrik agreed with a sigh. And with that, the knights sped off after him into the dark, flower-filled fields of the Costa Valor.

 

* * *

 

A full half-hour of fruitless searching later, Hendrik was grimly ruminating on the equal usefulness of lessons on rash behaviour and the dire consequences thereof. He stumbled over yet another stone on the dark cliffside path and hissed out a curse.

“Are you _sure_ you saw something this way, Princey dear?” Sylvando called again from the rear. The man’s acrobatic training had at least enabled _him_ to keep his footing better than Hendrik.

“I am absolutely certain!” Prince Faris declared, with as much confidence now as twenty minutes previous. “The demons are close, I assure you!”

“If we do not find any sign around the next turning in the path, I must insist we turn back,” Hendrik groused, thoroughly out of patience and fervently wishing he had never even _heard_ of Gallopolis.

He felt Sylvando reach a hand forward to give his shoulder a reassuring squeeze, but ignored it. He adjusted the knife at his belt instead, feeling more exposed than ever without the comforting weight of his sword at his side.

Occupied as he was with his scanty weaponry, Hendrik almost ran right into Prince Faris, who had stopped short before him.

“Quiet!” the prince hissed, though none but he had spoken.

Hendrik craned his ears, trying to hear above the sound of the waves crashing far down below the cliffs. At first he could discern nothing of importance, but then—

Voices, coming from just up ahead.

Thoroughly alert now and all complaints forgotten, Hendrik crept forward on silent feet, carefully edging along the cliff. He firmly pushed Prince Faris to a position of safety behind him and glared at his attempted protest until the prince cowed back in acquiescence.

In a few feet more they reached the unexpected entrance of what seemed a substantial cave carved into the cliffside. Flickering firelight spilled out into the darkness and loud voices came from within. Hendrik halted at one edge of the opening; with a jerk of his chin at Sylvando, the other man darted quick as a flash to the other side before anyone could see him.

Hendrik held up a gloved fist in full view of his fellow knight. He silently counted with his fingers: One. Two. _Three._ The two men sprang into the cave, knives drawn and ready to do battle with whatever spawn of devilry awaited them there.

As always seemed to happen, however, that was not _precisely_ how it ended up working out.

“What...is this?” Hendrik asked, mystified.

A group of half a dozen young men in garish clothing sat huddled around a campfire. There were bedrolls and supplies scattered around the inside of the cave and the discarded remains of some type of meal. The men were cringing back and staring at the intruders with various expressions of terror on their faces.

Sylvando twisted both his knives with an expert flourish and they disappeared back into their hiding place. “Darlings,” he said with confusion, one hand on his hip. “What are you all doing here? We thought for sure you were demons!”

Prince Faris poked his head into the cave behind them. “They are...not?”

He scurried inside and peered at the ‘demons’ he had so enthusiastically been chasing that evening. “They are _not!_ ” the prince confirmed with a shout, boldly striking a pose. “They are but foul bandits, terrorizing the hapless citizens of this fair town!”

“We’re not bandits!” one of the men protested in a trembling voice. “We’ve been trying to _help_ people!”

Hendrik returned the knife to his belt and gestured with his other hand. “I suggest you explain yourselves—directly,” he said firmly.

“We...we came here because...we want to be knights!” another young man blurted out. His companions nodded their heads and murmured their agreement.

“Then why did you not report to Don Rodrigo’s villa?” Hendrik frowned, scanning the group with a dubious assessment. He had strong initial reservations as to their qualifications for training, but now did not seem the time to voice them.

“Well, truthfully...we wanted to train under Sylv!” the first man replied earnestly. “We’ve heard _so_ many wonderful things about him, but when we got here, he was gone!”

“You wanted to train under little old _me?_ ” Sylvando exclaimed, one flattered hand pressed against his chest. “Oh, honey, I don’t know what to say!”

“It’s been our dream ever since the day you saved us from that nasty, no good meanie in the mural,” someone else piped up. “If you hadn’t come to our rescue, I’m _sure_ we’d still be stuck there doing those _horrible_ dances!”

“Then, you are the ones…” Hendrik started to say, recognition dawning, but his friend interrupted him.

“Of course!” Sylvando slapped his forehead with his palm. “I should have noticed immediately! But darlings, I thought you were happy in Phnom Nonh. Why be knights?”

“Because you showed us we can protect people _and_ bring joy into their lives,” a dark-haired man said, eyes shining as he clasped his hands together. “With your training, we could truly be...Soldiers of Smile!”

Sylvando’s face lit up so brightly, it was like the sun rising prematurely in the night sky.

“Oh,” he said, looking around at the hopeful group with an uncharacteristic loss of words. “Oh, darlings, I…” He shook his head vigorously and finally seemed to recover himself, striking a dramatic pose. “I could truly find no greater honour in life than taking you all under my wing!”

The cave filled with cheers as the men leapt up and began dancing around their new instructor.

“But…” Prince Faris had a look of profound puzzlement on his face that Hendrik could, for once, heartily sympathize with. “But then, they are _not_ bandits either?”

“Certainly not!” one of the men sniffed, pausing briefly in his celebration. “While we waited for Sylv to return, we thought we could help out by escorting people back to their homes at night, but everyone ran away from us! We had to make camp all the way out here for our own safety!”

“Oh,” the prince said dejectedly, entirely deflating where he stood.

“Do not despair, Your Highness,” Hendrik told him, taking pity on the boy. “You solved the mystery and finished your quest, did you not?”

Prince Faris looked up at him quickly, light filling his eyes again. “Yes...Yes, I did!” he cried, tossing his cape back in that well-practiced gesture. “The people are safe again, thanks to Prince Faris, Hero of Gallopolis— _and_ Puerto Valor!”

He whirled around and pointed dramatically toward the town in the distance. “Now, we make our triumphant return to the adoring public! Onward, gentlemen!” With the prince in the lead, the group of young men started off on the cliffside path, their cheers and laughter floating up into the night sky.

Hendrik watched them go, his lips pressed tightly together. He felt a familiar figure approach from behind.

“Sylvando,” he said, a bit distantly.

“Yes, honey?” the man replied, standing beside him with arms crossed.

“I wish, mostly ardently, to become drunk,” Hendrik declared. “Would you care to join me?”

“Oh, Hendrik darling,” Sylvando laughed in his ear, slinging an affectionate arm around his friend’s neck. “I thought you’d _never_ ask.”

 

* * *

 

The famous white sands of Puerto Valor felt cool beneath Hendrik’s back as he lay upon the beach, one leg lazily bent at the knee and the other just as lazily sprawled out beside it. He could not with certainty concede to a state of full inebriation as yet, but the three-quarters-empty bottle of rum haphazardly thrust into the sand was ample proof that he had been giving it a _very_ thorough attempt.

Hendrik blinked up at the stars through heavy lids. Music drifted over to his ears from further down the beach, the usual nightly performance enhanced by the addition of several enthusiastic new performers. He knew without looking that Prince Faris numbered among them. The prince seemed to have been adopted by Sylvando’s recently-acquired pupils, or they by him; Hendrik could not mentally rouse himself enough to puzzle out which.

Sylvando shifted slightly in his reclined position a few feet away. The man had been a most loyal ally in Hendrik’s determined quest to test the limits of his sobriety, once convinced not to order another melonous monstrosity from the bar. They had sat instead on the sand, sharing the bottle between them while watching the rolling waves, and growing slowly more horizontal with each fiery swallow of rum.

Hendrik took a deep breath, relishing in the stinging comfort of the sea air as it filled his lungs.

“Sylvando,” he said in a tone of gravest solemnity. “I...have fallen in love with Princess Jade.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the other man turn in the sand to face him. When no reaction came after some moments, Hendrik frowned and glanced over. Sylvando was looking at him with one eyebrow raised, his head propped up on his hand.

“And?” his friend prompted him.

“ _And?_ ” Hendrik echoed, sheer incredulity piercing through the haze of drink that surrounded him. He pushed himself up onto his elbows and immediately regretted it; perhaps incredulity was not _that_ strong a sobering force, after all.

Still, he keenly felt the importance of getting his point through to his friend. Could the man be that much more drunk than Hendrik already? It did not seem possible for such a seasoned performer, but—

“And...and I am in love! With the princess!” Hendrik repeated insistently. Almost as an afterthought, he added a further clarification: “Of Heliodor!”

Sylvando smiled, his eyes crinkling at the edges. “Darling, if you think this is news to me, trust me—it isn’t.”

“But…” Thoroughly at a loss now, Hendrik slumped back down on the sand. The stars blurred and shifted in the sky above him, but he could not spare a thought for itinerant constellations at present. “But,” he finished helplessly.

The man beside him made a strange sound, almost as if swallowing a laugh. “So, honey—I’m guessing that our favourite lost princess must have finally found out?”

Hendrik shook his head _just_ slightly enough not to send his vision swimming. “No, I have not...apprised her of the true nature or extent of my attachment,” he admitted, with a twinge of— _guilt?_ No, surely that was a mere aftereffect of the alcohol. He pressed his hand to his stomach and ineffectively willed it to settle.

“Oh,” Sylvando said, a frown in his voice. There was a pause for a moment as he presumably mulled that over, with perhaps a bit less of his usual sharpness. “Then what happened between you two?” he asked curiously. “ _Something_ made you run all the way here from Heliodor with your panicky little tail between your legs.”

Hendrik swallowed, a flush starting to creep up from his chest to his neck. “That would be...difficult to explain,” he evaded, hoping the other man would for once take pity on him.

Hope, as it turned out, had died a dishonorable death somewhere around the middle point of the rum bottle. Sylvando, swaying slightly, pushed himself up from the sand to peer intently at Hendrik. As if in mockery of all Hendrik’s desperate internal prayers, the flush only grew greater, until every square inch of his skin felt aflame.

Sylvando’s face split into a lopsided grin. “Ooh, Hendrik!” he exclaimed, clasping delighted hands to his cheek. “You sly dog! I didn’t think you had it in you!”

Hendrik squeezed his eyes shut, and also covered them with one trembling hand for good measure. “Truthfully,” he said in a somewhat strangled tone, “it was more the princess that took the lead in…in the proceedings.”

“Oh, of _course_ , darling,” his friend said knowingly. “So she ‘apprised’ you of _her_ side of things, I take it?”

“At least several of Princess Jade’s intentions were made”—Hendrik coughed in a rather pitiful attempt at delicacy—”quite clear.”

Unbidden, vivid images of that night swept into his mind again. The alcohol had apparently removed any sort of filter on Hendrik’s memory, and he could almost _feel_ the soft press of her breasts against his chest, taste the sweetness of her mouth, hear the throaty gasps of her desire. To his horror, he felt his body immediately responding to this with enthusiasm, primed from weeks of agonizing attempts at self-denial.

Hendrik mustered a truly heroic burst of strength to flip himself over onto his stomach, gaining a mouthful of sand as his reward. He spit and sputtered as he struggled to rise onto his elbows.

“Here, honey,” Sylvando said, handing him the bottle of rum. Hendrik took a grateful swig and washed the coarseness out of his mouth with distaste. His friend took the bottle back when he was done and shoved it into the sand again.

“Well, well, well,” Sylvando chuckled. He flopped back down on the beach with his hands clasped on his chest and his eyes closed. “When Jade wants something, she doesn’t waste any time, eh? Good for her!”

The man’s clear delight in the circumstance stirred an unease in Hendrik, almost as if they had both forgotten something important; some reason why this was _not_ an event to be celebrated, or a memory to replay over and over as he lay awake at night and struggled not to take himself in—

Hendrik’s ardour drooped as the harsh reality of his situation crashed down upon him once more. His resolve hardened, and his face grew grim. Even some of the diverting buzz of intoxication drained away at this most unexpected—and painful—remedy.

“ _No_ ,” he said harshly.

Sylvando tilted his head back to stare at Hendrik in confusion. “No? What do you mean, darling?”

“It matters not what she—or I—desires,” he declared, more loudly than intended. “Princess Jade is the daughter of my liege, and will one day ascend the throne herself. Whether she chooses to understand this or not, I cannot permit _any_ distraction from my duties to the crown!”

The other knight, more than a little concerned now, twisted around so he could look directly at his friend. “Hendrik, what in the world are you going on about?”

Hendrik averted his gaze from Sylvando’s questioning eyes. “You know as well as I the discipline and abnegation instilled in us from our training,” he said resolutely. “To surrender to such...such _weakness_ would be the lowest form of indulgence. The king _must_ able to rely on my constancy. To fail in that, when everything I have, I owe to him...”

An echo, from some unknown and incomprehensible place: _Why was it always you who got just what you wanted?_

There was silence for a time as Hendrik stared ahead with unseeing eyes. He could feel Sylvando’s penetrating look in the form of an itch on the back of his neck. Or, perhaps likelier, some more of that accursed sand had gotten stuck in the collar of his shirt.

Suddenly Sylvando hoisted himself up into a full sitting position with remarkable ease for one who had engaged the rum bottle with such enthusiasm. “Yoo hoo! Princey dear!” he called out.

Hendrik’s head jerked up in surprise and he turned to watch Prince Faris trotting over from the revelry down the beach.

“Yes, Sylvando? You...you have need of me?” the prince asked when he arrived, swaying where he stood.

“Of course, darling,” Sylvando said with a smile. He snapped his fingers sharply. “The Knight’s Pledge. Quickly!”

“Oh,” Prince Faris said, blinking rapidly. “Oh!” He attempted to throw back his cape, but the fabric caught on his hat and knocked it off.

“A knight’s word is his bond,” he recited distractedly, scrambling in the sand to retrieve his headgear, “his kingdom his...his master! Yes! He serves the...the strong...unchallengingly and, um, never retreats in the face of…of...”

Hat shoved back in place, the prince paused for a moment. Then he posed and made a grand flourish with one hand. “Ta da! The Knight’s Pledge!” he cried.

“ _Perfect_ , Princey-poo, thanks so much,” Sylvando assured him, and the prince attempted a salute before dashing back to his new friends. The knight watched him thoughtfully as he went, his fingers tapping idly on his chin. “I wonder if I should have warned our little prince about the dangers of consuming _that_ many Shamhattans? He’s in for one awful headache tomorrow morning!”

“Sylvando, what purpose did that absurdity serve?“ Hendrik demanded, not _nearly_ drunk enough not to be affronted to his very core at the mockery that had just been made of the Pledge.

Sylvando turned back to his fellow knight; his face had gone serious, with only a trace of the earlier tipsy indolence. “The silly prince at least got the important part right. ‘His _kingdom_ his master’, darling—not his king. Not even his queen. You see?”

Hendrik stared at him uncomprehendingly. “I beg your pardon?”

The other man gave him a long, steady look before sighing and grabbing the bottle again. He took a short swig before letting it drop to dangle between his knees. “Hendrik,” Sylvando said then, looking out at the star-filled horizon, “who are the two best knights you’ve ever known?”

“Don Rodrigo, of course,” Hendrik replied promptly. “And King Irwin of Dundrasil. Both men who strove to embody the spirit of the Pledge every day of their service.”

“Mm-hm,” Sylvando nodded agreeably. “So tell me: did they ever get married?”

Hendrik frowned at that; the question seemed an ambush, but he was unable to determine a course around it in his befuddled state. “You...know as well as I do that they did,” he responded with some confusion.

“Yes, honey, they did.” Sylvando looked back over at him, a small smile on his face. “And do you think old Rab was disappointed that Irwin wasn’t ‘fulfilling his duties’”—this with long fingers quoting the air—“when he wanted to marry his daughter? Or the people here in Puerto Valor when Papi brought my Mami home?”

“Sylvando,” Hendrik objected, “if you are saying that King Carnelian should be expected to tolerate a negligence in my office while I... _cavort_ with his beloved—”

“What I’m _saying_ , Hendrik,” Sylvando interrupted with an impatient gesture, “is that I don’t think anyone _but_ you expects what you demand out of yourself!”

There was a long pause. Music drifted along on the breeze and the waves continued their restless ebb and flow.

Hendrik looked out over the water with strangely stinging eyes. “My...entire life,” he said thickly, “I have strived only to become a knight worthy of the mercies that have been granted to me. I...truthfully, I know no other way of repaying that debt than by devoting myself utterly to the service of my king.”

He swallowed hard. “My...feelings for the princess...I simply do not know how to reconcile such a thing with the burdens of duty I have carried for so long.”

From the corner of his eye he saw Sylvando scoop up a handful of sand, sifting it slowly through his long fingers.

“I think, dear Hendrik,” he said quietly, “that we can spend our whole lives struggling to be unswerving, steadfast, _perfect_ knights...or we can just try to be _human_ ones.” Sylvando spoke with a peculiar melancholy that Hendrik had never heard in him before.

“Papi and Irwin and all those men we wanted _so hard_ to be when we were teeny caballeros with little wooden swords in our hands?” he continued. “They weren’t perfect. Not even close.

“But I don’t think that really bothered anyone, you know? Not Rab, not Eleanor or Mami, not even they themselves.” He sounded almost wistful then. “Because I think...I think it made them happy, to not be perfect. I really do.”

Hendrik, his heart twisting in his chest, open and closed his mouth several times trying to marshall together some sort of response. When he finally turned his gaze upon the other man again, Sylvando was once more looking out at the sea.

“Let Jade want what she wants, okay honey?” his fellow knight said to him. “And maybe _you_ should take some of that _inexorable knightly resolve_ of yours, and try to do the same. I don’t think your king would mind—I honestly think he’d be proud of you.” A half-glance back, and Hendrik could see a hint of the man’s smile. “I would be, too.”

The music down the beach faded out and then stopped, and the crowd of onlookers and revelers slowly started to disperse. Prince Faris and his friends, the zest of youth yet sustaining them, soon turned their exuberance toward playing in the surf.

“Dear me,” Sylvando said abruptly with a short laugh, “that got a bit long and emotional, huh?” He squinted up at the position of the moon in the sky. “We should _probably_ think about hauling our Princey-poo off to bed before he falls into the sea and drowns.”

A thousand scattered thoughts were racing around inside Hendrik’s head, but he was too muddled at present to even begin sorting through them. After a pause, he pushed himself up off the sand instead, ignoring the sudden sense of vertigo as he shifted over to sit beside Sylvando. He wordlessly gestured for the bottle and the other man obligingly passed it over.

Hendrik took a long drink and then wiped his mouth off with the back of his hand. “I see no reason not to first finish what we have started here, do you?”

Sylvando smirked and grabbed the bottle back with a wink. “Of course not, darling! Absolutely no reason at _all_.”

The two men drank in companionable silence as they listened to the laughter of hopeful young knights and watched the waves gently rolling in and out on the shore.

 

* * *

 

It was some indeterminate time later when Hendrik stumbled over the threshold of Don Rodrigo’s manor, only narrowly saved from falling flat on his face by Sylvando’s dependable arm around his waist.

“Steady now, darling!” the man laughed into his ear. His breath stank of rum, and Hendrik wondered if his own was just as noxious. “Don’t _entirely_ fall to pieces on me right at the end here, hm?”

“You are as drunk as I,” Hendrik accused, with what he dearly hoped was some kind of point. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw one of the young men from the cave carrying an unconscious Prince Faris on his back, presumably to one of the main level guest chambers. Hendrik’s own room was somewhere on the second floor, though he could not reliably swear to its specific location at present.

“The difference is that I’ve had a _lot_ more practice with this,” came his friend’s smirking reply. “At least enough to still stand on my own two feet, eh?”

“Yes,” Hendrik mumbled, thoroughly chastened. “Yes, of course. I apologize for speaking to you so, Sylvando. You are—” A loss of footing on the staircase nearly derailed his train of thought, but he valiantly clawed it back from the precipice. “You are a true friend. The _truest_ ,” he finished earnestly—as well as loudly.

“Oh, Hendrik honey,” Sylvando marvelled, gripping the railing tightly as he hauled his companion up around the balcony. “I would have gotten you drunk _ages_ ago if I’d known it made you so _sappy_.”

“I speak only what is honest and just,” Hendrik declared. “Any man of disaccord may take it up with the finest Heliodorian steel!” He grabbed for the hilt of his sword and paused, blinking in consternation at its absence.

“No one wants to fight you tonight, Hendrik,” Sylvando soothed, tugging his hand back down to his side and patting it reassuringly. “Well, not after the casino, anyway.”

“I, Sir Hendrik of Heliodor, a _cheater_ ,” the knight groused as he let himself be pulled into—ah, _there_ were his bedchambers. He felt a sudden rush of gratitude for his loyal friend’s unswerving sense of direction.

“All right, honey,” Sylvando grunted, depositing Hendrik heavily on his bed with a shrieking complaint from the mattress springs. “Try to get some rest—and _don’t_ sleep on your back.”

“Wait! Sylvando, wait,” Hendrik beseeched him, struggling to stay upright. The other man turned back inquiringly.

Hendrik swallowed several times. To let this night pass without making heartfelt amends for all his disgraceful behaviour seemed unconscionable. “I...apologize for my anger, earlier this evening,” he said resolutely. “You are correct; the princess would never do anything she did not wish to. She would never. _Never_.” Not his princess, his _dear_ princess, brave and bold and kind and well-endowed and—

“Of course she wouldn’t, darling.” Sylvando smiled fondly at him. “Just...remember that she wouldn’t _not_ do anything she _did_ want to do either, hm?”

This was entirely beyond Hendrik’s comprehension at the moment; besides, there was one more matter burning in the back of his mind, one he _needed_ to settle in order to have any peace that night.

He took a breath and pushed back on the bed with his elbows, staggering to an upright position once more. He reached his friend in two unsteady steps and placed firm hands on his shoulders, leaning in close. Sylvando blinked up at him with something akin to confused amusement, but Hendrik pressed on.

“Tell me, Sylvando,” he implored, looking very intently into the man’s eyes. “I...I simply _must_ know, so please, I _beg_ of you to tell me.” He took in a long, shaky breath. “Princess Jade. Was she...was she _truly_ so beautiful in that costume?”

“Oh, Hendrik,” Sylvando said solemnly as he gripped the other knight’s wrists tightly. “She was the most stunning, fabulous bunny girl I have ever seen in my _life_.”

Hendrik’s eyes squeezed shut and he groaned in despair. Somehow he could picture it so easily, as if from a half-remembered dream. Form-fitting black leather, stockinged legs, fetchingly-pointed ears, a sultry smile. He could almost hear her speak, saying something about...a puppy?

His brow furrowed in bewilderment as he struggled to account for this stray thought, and he did not protest when Sylvando insistently led him back to bed. He mumbled his thanks to the man and let his head crash down to the pillow even as the door quietly clicked shut on the other side of the room. Hendrik breathed in deeply, willing the spinning of the universe to steady so that he might finally rest.

On the very edges of consciousness, voices drifted through to him from the other side of the door.

“Well, Norberto, what did you find out?” he heard Don Rodrigo’s gruff voice demand. “He has been driving us all loco since he got here!”

“A true knight cannot break a confidence, Papi,” Sylvando responded primly. “ _Especially_ not concerning matters of the heart.”

There was a pause, and then a great roar of laughter. “So the mighty Sir Hendrik has finally been laid low by amor, has he? Oh, that is too good!”

Hendrik frowned reflexively, but in the very next moment all slipped into darkness.

 

* * *

 

Sir Hendrik, Hero of Heliodor, was feeling every one of his thirty-six years when he awoke the next morning, his head by all accounts in imminent danger of falling off entirely. He truthfully would not even have _minded_ , the way it throbbed without mercy as he desperately flailed around trying to reach for the glass of water at his bedside table.

Hydration obtained, he spent the next five agonizing minutes steeling himself merely to get out of bed, and only began to feel partway alive after vigorously splashing cool water all over his face and neck. As he dressed himself he wondered, for another of the handful of pained times in his life, why healing spells seemed not to have any effect on hangovers; he resolved to ask Serena when next he and the priestess met.

Clothed in a spare tunic and with the comfortable weight of his sword once more by his side, Hendrik gingerly descended the main hall staircase, head pounding with every inadvertently-heavy step taken.

“Hendrik!” Don Rodrigo boomed when the knight entered the dining room at what appeared to be the tail end of breakfast. “It is about time you showed up this morning!”

“Forgive me, my lord; I was indisposed,” Hendrik said with a short bow to hide his wince. Don Rodrigo’s voice was penetrating at the best of times, and akin to absolute _torture_ presently. Sylvando, sitting next to his father at the large dining table, flashed him a sympathetic smile.

“Ha!” Don Rodrigo’s bark of laughter pierced straight through to Hendrik’s eyeballs. “There seems to be a lot of ‘indisposed’ going around today! Well, do not just stand there, boy—siéntate, and eat,” he said, waving to the seat on his other side.

“Your hospitality has been most generous, my lord,” Hendrik declined, “but I have decided to return to Heliodor, and must needs make my preparations.”

“Leaving already, hm?” The older knight snorted. “Your little caballero students will be crushed.”

Sylvando had been giving Hendrik an appraising look while he spoke. When Servantes entered the room and murmured a polite excuse for the interruption, handing Don Rodrigo a letter, the younger knight rose and came over to join his friend.

“So, going back to face the music, Hendrik honey?” Sylvando asked him, resting his cheek in one hand.

“I am,” Hendrik confirmed. “You have...given me much to think on, and it is well time I put an end to this recreant retreat.”

The other man nodded understandingly, and then his face turned wistful. “It couldn’t wait one more day? We only just got the party _started_ , darling!”

“I...am not certain I would survive another such night as that,” Hendrik replied, wincing again at the sound of Don Rodrigo setting his fork down with a clatter while he opened his letter.

“I guess I’ll just have to run along to Heliodor and make my _own_ visit then,” Sylvando sighed dramatically. He gave Hendrik a sidelong glance. “Maybe...after giving things a bit of time to settle first, hm?”

Hendrik grimaced. “That would likely be best.”

“Well, a word of advice, darling,” his friend said with a hint of slyness. “Try to get rid of her claws _before_ you talk to her, okay?”

“It would be of no use,” Hendrik shook his head. “The princess keeps spares hidden throughout the castle in places even _I_ am not aware of.”

“Ah, that’s our Jade!” Sylvando chuckled fondly, and Hendrik could not help but agree.

He paused a moment to gather his thoughts before speaking again; some words would always come more easily under the light of the stars with a drink in hand, but must needs be conveyed nonetheless.

“I must thank you for the many kindnesses you have shown me, Sylvando,” Hendrik said with a grave sincerity. “You are an exemplary knight, and a truer friend than I deserve.” He stuck out a hand to the other man.

“Oh, Hendrik, _honey_ ,” Sylvando gasped, his eyes suddenly shining with emotion. “I thought for _sure_ I’d have to get you drunk to hear anything like _that_ again!” He ignored the hand and grabbed Hendrik in a fierce hug instead.

Hendrik choked down his instinctive protest and stood there rigidly, wildly uncertain as to what, if anything, he was supposed to _do_ in response. But after a moment he relaxed into the embrace and patted Sylvando awkwardly on the back several times before they pulled away.

“Farewell, Sylvando,” Hendrik murmured.

“Good-bye, darling,” Sylvando smiled, sniffling suspiciously. Hendrik gave him one last nod and turned to leave.

“Wait,” Don Rodrigo said, holding up a hand, his eyes intent on his letter. The two knights turned to him in surprise.

“Yes, my lord?” Hendrik asked, unconsciously adjusting his sword belt.

“It seems you should not go packing just yet, Hendrik,” Don Rodrigo warned him, finally looking up from the letter.

“What is it, Papi?” Sylvando demanded.

“A dragón has appeared in the Champs Sauvage, and the headmaster of the academia has asked for our help dealing with it,” his father replied with a tight grin. “What do you say? Are you two old caballeros up for the job?”

Hendrik exchanged a long glance with Sylvando. Now that his course had been resolved, he chafed at any delay in returning home; despite the uncertainty still roiling within him, he was equally in an agony of impatience to once more lay eyes upon the brave, passionate, _beautiful_ woman he loved—regardless of the not insignificant chance she would be greeting him with razor-sharp weaponry equipped.

However...

“Well,” Sylvando smirked, one hand on his hip. “I guess a knight’s work really _is_ never done, eh Hendrik?”

“Truly,” Hendrik sighed.


End file.
